The New Girl, Ch. 15 - Pleasing Persephone

 

Chapter 15: Pleasing Persephone

 

Things are different, following my enjoyable escapade with Morrigan and Mistress.

Waking up between them is one thing. One fucking incredible one. By some perfect fluke I’m in the middle of that superb sandwich, huge breasts on either side of me, fat cocks brushing against my sides, lazily hugged by the two sleeping beauties.

The first breath of the day is a thing of glory, inhaling their mingling sweet smells, appreciating the warmth and humidity of their proximity to me. Turning left or right, I find myself staring at natural cleavage, G-cups or H-cups squished upon themselves, one atop the other. God, I must be the luckiest dude on the planet.

For a long moment all I can do is stare at Freya, and then at Morrigan, and then back again. The contrast of pale and tan, the contrast of muscular athleticism with raw voluptuousness, the contrast of darkness and light. I don’t want to move, partly to stay here forever, and partly not to wake them. Thankfully Freya is a fairly deep sleeper, and given yesterday’s activities, I’m not sure she’s going to be quick to mobilise.

Morrigan on the other hand seems lighter, but it could well be some innate aspect of her intimidating nature that suggests she might, at any moment, comment on my wakefulness. Besides, it’s not as if I’m in any rush to get away from them. It’s paradise here, warm and sweet-scented, tremendously comfortable. I happily shut my eyes, and bask in the moment.

Yet when I open them again, it’s closer to…midday? I find myself alone, and hastily move towards my phone on the bedside table. Shit. It’s even past midday.

‘Two o’ clock?!’

Jesus Christ. I didn’t feel all that tired when I woke up earlier, but to have my body clock betray me in so brutal a fashion Is absurd. Such is life, I guess? I rub the sleep from my eyes and slip off the bed, the sweet-tangy odour of last night’s activities still faintly prominent in the air. The curtains are closed, so I open them, but there’s no hint of Freya or Morrigan. Not that it’s super unusual, given the business of them both, but it’s still strange. Especially after last night’s agreed-upon arrangement.

After a quick shower I get dressed, and sit back down on the foot of the bed to shoot Freya a text. She gets back to me almost instantly – she’s at work, and will be back later. Mistress makes sure to quickly add that it’s not Morrigan’s day today, so I’d better not do anything with the gorgeous goth!

Which is fine, anyway, because the older Venyabildt daughter sends me a message not long after, telling me that I’ve got the house to myself and (jokingly, I hope) not to burn it down in the absence of the family, or go rummaging through her underwear drawers. I’m a pervert, sure, but I’m not sketchy like that!

The various maids and butlers and so forth only do bits and pieces, and usually the main house is off-limits – the Venyabildts like to maintain some modicum of self-sufficiency when it comes to basic human functioning.

The crux of this all being that I am, weirdly enough, home alone. For a few hours, anyway – Freya will likely be back in the evening, though there’s no telling when the others will be. It’s a sweet little daydream to imagine Mistress and I having the house to ourselves, and all the possible places we might explore together…but it’s the kind of fantasy that usually gets delivered in some form or other simply by existing, so it doesn’t pull me too far out of appreciating the novelty.

I pop down to the kitchen and grab some of the leftovers from the other night, some remarkably good aubergine pasta recipe Persephone made. Pasta alla…n-something? I forget. But with a bit parmesan on – and I didn’t think there were multiple grades of parmesan, or that they really mattered much, but the Venyabildts always stock some brand of it that’s the best I’ve ever had – it’s one of the most delicious meals I’ve ever eaten, even cold.

Munching on a reasonable bowl of the stuff – Persephone always makes huge quantities, because the girls have inhuman appetites – I wander around the ground floor, feeling ever so slightly as if the world has ended. Not a sense of gloom or dread, mind you, but this far out from mainstream society, without any other people around, it’s as if there’s nobody else alive anymore.

Every room becomes different, something to marvel at, to appreciate in subtle isolation. The huge lounge, with its enormous television and sofas which cost God knows how much. The grand hallway with its two staircases, the walls adorned with art and the alcoves fitted with sculptures. The vast conservatory on the southern face of the house, overlooking the endless green gardens, with not a gardener in sight today.

Certain rooms particularly appeal, if just for their mystique. Persephone and Alicia’s office, for instance, which is never locked but always occupied and despite having lived here for a while I still tend to avoid the parents if only out of awkwardness. “Daddy” is always professional and straightforward, but Alicia…Alicia is a dangerous woman, especially given my propensity for being quite the slut.

But inside, it’s just a normal office. A bigger desk than I might expect, and a fancier computer – though not especially so, mostly in the monitor department – but otherwise it’s simply well-furnished. Something like the beating heart of the Venyabildt family business, or at least that heart away from the tower. If it’s a tower. I’ve never really asked, and definitely haven’t visited.

The only thing that really catches me by surprise – or not, but…it probably should? – is the sight of a special kind of pillow under the desk. Memory foam stuff, it looks like, with the distinct imprint of a pair of knees and shins across it. A kneeling pillow. Under the family, uh, patriarch’s desk.

It’s not the kind of thing to be proud of, but it provokes an immediate reaction in my boxers to consider Alicia and Persephone in this room, the busty MILF kneeling below the desk of the gorgeous dickgirl DILF.

‘Shit,’ I say aloud, thought becoming word.

I can’t help but stare at the thing, the importance of it, everything it implies. Erotic events, occurring here, perhaps when everything else in the house otherwise seems normal. How often have Alicia and Persephone retreated to this office solely for relieving their lusts, under the guise of doing “family work”?

‘Should you really be wandering around in here?’

My heart almost jumps out of my chest, to hear Persephone’s voice. I turn about and almost fall back against the desk, very nearly knocking off one of the fancy widescreen monitors. The oldest of the futanaris, the Daddy, stands somewhat lazily in the doorway, half-leaning against the frame. Blonde hair like Freya, skin as pale as milk like Morrigan. Blue eyes, but they shift between bright and icy, depending on how the sunlight hits them.

‘S-orry, I didn’t mean to trespass or anything.’

‘I’m glad you went with that answer, and didn’t try to justify it with our absence.’

‘Sure, I mean, I was just exploring.’

Persephone pushes off the doorframe, standing upright and tall. Taller than her daughters, at least by a fraction. She’s in business attire, a blouse and blazer, and a dark skirt that runs down to her knees. Hair flowing freely, jacket slightly opened to reveal the heaviness of her breasts where her blouse is unbuttoned. Not quite as big as Morrigan in the boob department, but a bit bigger than Freya.

‘Exploring,’ she says, repeating the word, feeling it out with her voluptuous mouth. The tall woman steps forwards slowly, a noticeable sway to her hips. ‘I suppose that was why you were staring at Alicia’s spot, beneath my desk.’ Satisfied with her tasting of the word, the blonde beauty pulls a faintly vicious grin. With every inch that she moves closer, her height becomes more and more intimidating. ‘You know, she told me how you ate her pussy. How you swallowed my semen.’

Like a deer caught in headlights I stay put, right up until Persephone is before me, smelling sweet and fresh, a more muted fruitiness compared to her daughters. Sugary, almost. Fainter. She puts her hands on the sides of my arms and slowly strokes, up and down, while I stare up at her face, cheeks burning red.

‘Um…that was just…it only happened the once.’

‘That’s a shame. Not to your liking? My wife’s cunt? Your future, shall we say, father-in-law’s cum?’ She does this thing with her mouth, opening it enough to show off the top row of white straight teeth, and brushes them with the blade of her tongue. ‘I’ve been wondering how to broach this topic. What with you being so popular with my daughters.’

I tremble beneath her touch, hands running up to my shoulders, squeezing and appreciating as they go. My cock, already hard, is even more dangerously demanding as it juts out, obvious and more than a little embarrassing on account of how easy I must seem.

‘P-ersephone, I don’t think–’

But she so easily gets me beneath my jaw, lifts my head in one smooth motion, and practically drags me up onto my tiptoes so as to dip down and meet my mouth with hers. Mwah, smack, mwah, schlep. Her lips are fire, sticky and sweet, and for what feels like some fraction of eternity our mouths are locked, mine frozen in fear, hers urgent with its controlled, captivating passions.

She breaks the kiss with a lick, around my lips, tasting my spit, our spits. ‘Call me Daddy,’ Persephone says. ‘The others all do.’

‘I…I didn’t agree to this with Mistress or Morrigan.’

The older woman, the much older woman – old enough to be my mother, or father, if I’m honest about her preferences – tastes her lips and smiles ever so sweetly. ‘You’re a lovely boy. It only makes me want you more, but I’ll respect your wishes.’ She strokes the underside of my jaw for a moment, then draws back her hand. ‘For whatever it’s worth, I don’t want to be part of your little games with my girls. There’s no need to fit me in, or anything like that. Though you might be surprised what Morgan – or Morrigan, if Freya has managed to change her preferences – is willing to do.’

She pulls away suddenly, turns from me, incidentally swinging the breadth and bounciness of her well-sculpted backside ahead of my feasting eyes. It’s not that I don’t want to, but…Mistress was hurt, when I played with her sister. The possibility of hurting her again, of giving into the lascivious charms of her family – her own fucking father – is too much to consider.

‘It’s not that I wish for this, but I can’t hurt Freya,’ I say, feeling all the more ashamed of my throbbing erection. ‘I…don’t know what to do.’

Persephone chuckles. ‘You could always call her? Ask permission?’

The prospect runs a chill down my back. I swallow a lump of nerves, and stare at the futanari MILF (DILF?), though her exact fine and physical specifications are irrelevant. All that matters, all that comes to mind, is the possibility of that conversation. The awkwardness. The overt weirdness. Hey, Mistress, can I play with your dad’s dick, or what?

‘C-an…can you?’

The tall, elegant, intimidating woman turns to me, side-on. Her grin is a thing of lusty legend, beautiful and baleful. To think, I’d always found Persephone straightforward, always easy to work with, but the truth is that her daughters don’t fall far from the tree. The seed, clearly, is ever so strong. It definitely tasted that way.

‘I’d be happy to, if that’s what you want. It certainly makes sense as to why both of the girls act as if you’re their property, Tom. You really are quite a soft, submissive man.’

She draws back the sleeve of her blouse, revealing one of those expensive smart watches, the sort of multimedia hub things that are verging ever so slightly into the realm of science fiction. Persephone smirks at me, winks, and lifts it up to her face. ‘Call Freya,’ she says to the device. ‘Put her on loudspeaker.’

‘Calling Freya,’ responds the little machine voice, practically human. ‘Putting her on loudspeaker.’

The dickgirl patriarch lowers her wrist, the speakers filling the office with the ringtone. She watches me without a word, smiling away, all hint of straightforwardness and ease having dissipated now. These Venyabildts are, one and all, voracious specimens. Beautiful, predatory, completely enrapturing.

A lump of nervousness solidifies in the back of my throat, right as the ring ceases, and Freya’s voice replaces it. ‘Dad?’

‘Hi, darling,’ Persephone says. ‘Do you have a moment? I’ve a little request to make. Something requiring your permission.’

There’s a crisp silence, an uncomfortable thing. A shuffle of movement, and then Mistress’s voice again. ‘What’s this about?’

‘I’ll be blunt with you, darling. I’ve got designs on that boy of yours.’ In the wake of her words, there’s another pause. Even more discomforting. ‘Darling?’

‘Is this Tom’s doing? He’s come to you in my absence?’ Freya says, at length.

Persephone smiles all the wider. ‘No, Freya. In fact, he refused my advances, which is the entire reason I’m calling. You have a loyal little pet, and I wouldn’t want to hurt either of you to get some enjoyment out of him.’

Another pause, but this one is broken by a single note of laughter. ‘He’s a good boy, that’s true.’ Quiet, thoughtful, fertile. ‘Hmm. I don’t like the idea of everyone getting a piece of him, but I trust you more than Mum. If…if Tom is okay with it, you can play. But if this goes further, and you start bidding for some actual control, I’ll never forgive you, Daddy.’

Persephone shuts her eyes, seems to almost drink in the world through a faint flaring of her nostrils. ‘You’re sure? Just like that?’

‘I’m sure. I’m his owner, and I know we were meant to be together today…you can look after him, in the meantime. Just don’t get any funny ideas. Only when I’m not around. And always ask permission.’

The older futanari chuckles. ‘My, darling, you’re giving the faintest impression that it’s you who rules the roost.’

‘I’m serious, Dad. I don’t blame you for wanting a piece, and honestly it’s another reminder of how much a catch he is, but he’s not yours. The moment I get home, he’s mine again, and I swear to God if you fill his head with any naughty little notions of rebellion–’

‘It’s me, Freya. Remember that. It’s only me.’

Mistress exhales loudly. ‘Mum’s nothing to do with this, okay? She doesn’t know, she has no part in this. Right?’

‘If that’s what you want, then that’s how it’ll be. Of course.’ Persephone, lust-glazed as she is, nonetheless softens sweetly. ‘If this is making you uncomfortable, it doesn’t have to happen. It’s just a request.’

But Freya’s voice comes back clear, firm, powerful. ‘The opposite, actually. He’s mine, and this just affirms that. Good of you for asking,’ she says. ‘Tell Tom – if he’s not there listening – that he’s a good boy. I’m proud of him. He’ll be well-rewarded.’

Mistress’s sweetness turns my cheeks a shade of strawberry, warm and wanton. I…this can’t be real, surely? I’m getting to play with Daddy, and getting praised for it? New Freya is…she’s remarkable.

‘I’ll pass the praise along,’ Persephone says. ‘I love you, darling. Thank you so much.’

‘Yeah, yeah. Don’t get sappy, Dad.’ I can practically hear the eye roll. ‘I’ve got work to do. Someone has to. Bye.’

‘Goodbye.’

The line cuts, the call ends, and…my heart races. ‘Bet you didn’t expect that outcome, did you?’ the dickgirl DILF says, smile becoming a gorgeous grin. ‘I don’t know what you’ve done to her, for her, but consider what follows something of a thank you. You’ve been such a force for good, in this house.’

Persephone wastes no time, loosening the catch on the side of her skirt. It drops instantly, falling into a dark rumpled clump around her ankles, and she steps out of the heap to plop off her stylish slip-on shoes. The older woman’s exposed lower half is exquisite, of course – how could it not be? – but most enrapturing is the fact that she’s dressed for the erotic arts, those pale thighs clad in a pair of garter stockings and her crotch badly concealed by a beautiful pair of lingerie knickers.

Knickers which, by the very nature of her family’s virile lineage, struggle to handle the package contained with them. Struggle being the complete wrong word, as that implies a degree of success leaning towards failure…where in this case, the dam has already broken. Her cock isn’t yet fully hard, but it juts out of the left side of her panties, hanging along her thigh, some tremendously thick and sizeable shape.

‘Fuck.’

Persephone chuckles. ‘Perhaps, but let’s start with introducing you to Alicia’s spot. You did show quite the interest in it, after all.’

She strides closer, in full control now, completely content with the way things have turned out. Again I find myself paralysed in a sense, succumbing to her overwhelming authority, feeling small and ultimately like some kind of prey animal in her possessive presence.

Persephone makes no effort to take off her blouse, much as I’d love to feast my eyes on the upper half of her curvaceous contours. She reaches out to brush my face with a few fingers while she moves towards the desk, stroking me with silken fingertips. ‘Alicia seemed to think you loved how I taste,’ the dickgirl DILF says, licking at the corner of her mouth. ‘It’s much better fresh, I should say. Released right into your mouth, for instance, without any obstacles.’

It’s somewhat chilling, how she acts, speaks. The oldest of the futanaris rounds her desk and pulls back the chair slowly, acting with utmost confidence. It’s enthralling, almost a kind of magic, something that neither daughter has. Mistress is growing all the time, it’s true, and lately seems to have found some unrelenting bastion of inner glory with which to partake of these most interesting and illicit situations. Morrigan has the confidence, yes, but there’s almost a competitive, fighty streak to her. Something to prove, something that might well soften as my adventures with her continue.

But Persephone is a breed of her own. Utmost charm, utmost grace, and utmost control. As if she could, quite happily, take or leave this. A blowjob, from a boy the same age as her youngest daughter, and she could take or leave it.

Somehow, that’s more enticing than it has any right to be.

‘Did you mean what you said?’ I say, stepping forwards, brushing against the side of the desk for some kind of physical support. My heart is thunderous, after all, and it’s difficult not to get lost in the dirty dreaminess of this.

‘What I said?’

‘To Freya just then. About Alicia, about following Mist–Freya’s rules?’

The older woman – though in some ways, she barely looks a decade older than Morrigan – dips forwards, resting her arms crossed on the back of the resplendent office chair and pushing out her near-nude and delightfully shapely backside.

‘You have some odd ideas about me, and I wonder why that is,’ she says. Persephone cocks her head to the side, the mane of brilliant blonde shifting. ‘Much as any talk about my mother would be a turnoff if not for how badly I want to cum in that teenage mouth, if you have things you need clarified, ask away.’

‘It’s not…not that.’ I shuffle a bit closer, catching her scents. The familiar ones now, the pleasant ones, but her exposed crotch brings with it something musky on the edge of it all, provoking a stirring in my balls. ‘Just that, well, Morrigan…’

‘Morrigan what?’ She’s smiling now, rich and playful. ‘Well, Tom?’

‘She seemed to imply’ – honestly, imply is charitable – ‘that you and her were…that you were doing things together.’

It provokes a distinctly dirty response on the patriarch’s cheeks, giving them a deeper colour than I’ve managed to bring forth. She runs the tip of her tongue around the borders of her parted lips, and gently eases the chair aside. ‘Let me show you something. To make something clear.’

The tall woman takes hold of the mouse, and the screen grows light and alive. She pulls the keyboard tray out and types in the password, getting onto the desktop. A picture of the family, as the background. Innocent-looking, when the more I learn of them, the more perverse their situation clearly is.

I can’t help but creep around, almost coming to rest beside her as she brings up a folder, password-locked, and dips into that. I’m honestly surprised I don’t gasp, but the way she glances at me suggests the shock has reached my face, if not my lips. ‘Pick one,’ she says. ‘I’m happy to send you some, if you want to enjoy them in private. They’re rather good, I think.’

Two folders, one titled Alicia, the other, Morrigan. Persephone slides the mouse towards me, and I hesitantly take it, unable to resist the curiosity surging. A click, into the Morrigan one, and there’s a seemingly endless series of videos. Recordings, with dates as their titles, all of them roughly suggesting the presence of–

‘Holy shit.’

The camera is there in the corner above, positioned perfectly to catch the filthy goings-on occurring in this chair. From the thumbnails alone, they all seem to be blowjobs, but it wouldn’t surprise me if some simply start that way.

‘There’s another one here,’ Persephone says, pointing towards the inside of the desk, about head height for a kneeling person. ‘And another on the other side, nearer the back. The footage cycles. I’ve got a little program to compile it perfectly.’

It’s ever so slightly shameful, that my cock is so hard. Incest. The word repeats, and yet despite having seen it several times now, between the sisters, to consider their father partaking with one of them is somehow all the more perverse. ‘Your own…your own daughter sucks you off? And you film it?’

‘It’s just a bonding exercise.’ The dickgirl DILF wears the sultriest of smirks. ‘I don’t expect you to understand, Tom. We’re not like most families. I love my daughters, and hopefully you’ve noticed that I only deal in consent. Which Morrigan – I’m looking forward to using that lovely name, going forwards – gives enthusiastically.’

She commandeers the mouse and picks one seemingly at random, tapping on the keyboard a few times to forward it to the more intimate moments. There’s dim sound from the speakers, a lurid schlup, slurp, schlep of oral appreciation, passionately delivered. Paired, of course, with the high-definition footage of Morrigan Venyabidlt bobbing her head eagerly up and down her father’s absolutely enormous dick, unable to pull her eyes from the older woman’s own.

It’s only by merit of Persephone pinching hold of my tenting cock at the tip, firm yet playful, that I don’t lose myself in the incestuous pornography.

‘I’m glad to see it turns you on so much,’ she says. ‘The offer stands, I’m happy to send you some of my favourites, for your perusal. But…let’s make a game of it, instead.’

‘A g-ame?’

She leans forwards, breath sweet, eyes intoxicating in how they swallow me up. ‘A game. The rules are simple enough: for each video you help me make, for a brand-new folder with your name on it, I’ll give you two videos in return.’

‘But I…’

The thought is so vulgar, so immediate, that it gives me pause. I trail off, blushing, feeling completely inebriated with the fires of my lust for this much older, borderline-forbidden futanari.

‘But what, Tom?’

‘I’ve…I’ve never made videos before.’

Persephone chuckles warmly, softly. ‘Oh, it’s easy. You leave it to me. Just climb under my desk and wait until I give the word, and we’ll make something beautiful.’

She pulls the chair aside and allows access to the underside of the desk, that little alcove with its memory foam pad with the faint indents of prior cocksuckers telling without further description what the real purpose of the hollow happens to be.

I move without another comment, from either of us, because the lust that sweeps through me – permissive lust, allowed lust – is a current that cannot readily be tamed. It draws me around to that opened spot, some invitation whispering on the alluring winds that travel the erotic corridors of the mind. I’m dimly aware of Persephone watching me, her smile a thing of full and feisty adoration, but my focus is almost wholly hinged on the simple transition from the openness of the office to the cramped carnality of the underside of the desk.

There’s a faint, very faint, smell. It hits my nostrils as I drop to my knees, doubtless not picking the best of approaches. As I shuffle into the alcove, getting my knees onto the memory foam pad, I’m struck with the unmistakable tang of sexual encounters. Familiar enough that I know, at the very least, that Morrigan has been here. Alicia, as much as I only encountered her in such lascivious circumstances the one time, is clearly, obviously, the other presence. More strongly than her daughter, which makes perfect sense.

‘Get comfortable,’ Persephone says, sitting herself down on the chair. I watch for a moment, paralysed by her beautiful nude lower half, leaving myself halfway out from beneath the desk. ‘You’ve seen my daughters plentifully now. Am I really so distracting?’

She speaks playfully, but it draws attention to my awkward state, and I promptly shuffle myself backwards, into the alcove proper. The fatherly futanari brings the chair closer and closer, her widened knees coming to rest just inside the opening beneath the desk, barely brushing the varnished dark wood. As she comes to a halt, the wheels ceasing to spin, her heavy balls and fat cock wobble about a little bit.

Still not hard. That gives me pause. An age thing, or…?

‘It requires a little attention, if that’s what you’re wondering.’ Reading my mind? No. These dickgirls are divine, but the far more likely explanation is that, guilty as charged, I’m very noticeably staring at her dick. ‘Touch it, darling. Get your hands around it, and see how it responds. Once I’m nice and hard, we can get the cameras rolling.’

I glance about myself, noticing the small but clearly advanced devices, precisely placed for her viewing pleasure. A kink I understand, at least, but one I’ve never had the opportunity to engage in. The passing thought of seeing myself played back, with Persephone’s perfect penis wedged into my mouth and at the amorous mercy of my tongue and lips and cheeks, provokes a low shiver down my back.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.’

‘Stare all you like,’ she says, ‘but just know that I need more than eyes on it.’

Persephone leans back against the rest of her chair, and in the process juts her legs forwards, her cock and balls dipping over the rim of the luxurious seat. In the limited space of the alcove, her scents are thicker, moreish, fresh and yet noticeably sensual in nature. Those heavy, productive orbs hang low in their silken hairless sack, and her cock droops down above and between them, a length of maybe seven or so inches despite lacking anything in the way of hardness. It’s no wonder that her daughters are so well-endowed, all things considered. In some ways it reminds me of Freya, but in others, Morrigan. A larger cockhead, like the gothic daughter, but the oldest futanari’s dick looks as though it might well possess even more length than Mistress’s.

I almost go to speak, to ask permission, but it seems a foolish thing. She’s presenting this to me, offering for me to take matters into my own hands, and my fingers are already twitching in anticipation of getting to grips with her large – and soon to be larger! – loveliness.

‘Fuck.’

I do, at least, mutter under my breath some lurid word of appreciation as I bring my hands towards the radiant heat of her body. Her thighs are thickly curved and perfect, the skin hairless and pale, like delicious cream. My brain leaps between a few different senses of déjà vu, considering the sight before my eyes, the way that this body is at once familiar to multiple different sets of memory and, at the same time, a novelty.

To brush my fingertips against her dangling balls is to experience softness and firmness, intermingling, the outer looseness silken and the inner solidity plump, warm, cooler than the surrounding area. Persephone sucks in a soothing breath as I allow myself to cup her nuts, relishing in their weight, the cumslut in me deeply craving another taste of their contents.

‘I can’t believe I’ve already tasted your sperm,’ I say, perversely weighing the lumps, one on either hand, up and down, up and down. The older futanari’s lustful laugh draws my attention back to my words, still lingering in my ears. ‘I…don’t know why I just said that.’

‘I’m glad you don’t shy away from the scientific word, honestly. So many people get a little bit put off when you remind them that you’re going to pump a veritable sea of little wriggling things upon their tongues, or into their bodies.’ Persephone slowly slides back, and I go with her movements, not wanting to let go of the pair of opulent orbs. ‘Come out here, Tom. That I can watch your face while you get used to the most productive pair of balls in this household.’

To come out into the light of the room is to be struck, most importantly, by her smiling face looking down at mine. Beheld by her, I’m no longer hidden away beneath her desk, and so the presence of my hands on her balls transitions from something faceless into something completely intimate. Persephone’s cock grows a little in response, filling out a touch and lifting slightly off of her nuts, leaving my exploratory thumbs with a powerful pulse.

‘We’re filming now, by the way,’ she says, relaxing atop the chair, which might as well be a throne. Arms on the rests, head lazily lolling to one side. Her hair is white gold in the sunlight, her smile a thing of devastating deliciousness. ‘Say all that you want to say. Your hands are doing a fine job of that already.’

I don’t slow my massaging, though the sensation of being watched grows all the more intense for the presence of the cameras, and the fact that they’re recording all of this from multiple angles. Persephone’s eyes distract me like nothing else, the most captivating things in all the world, the equal of both her daughters.

‘You have, um, very beautiful balls,’ I say, the first thing that comes to mind. Heavy fucking things that they are. ‘That kind of stuff?’

The fatherly futanari giggles, a sound too young her in many ways, but all the sweeter because of it. This side of her is…ever so tantalising. ‘My, how cute you are. Do you say such things to my daughters, as well?’

My cheeks become fiery, more so than they were, and the full-body tremble that rocks me culminates in a shuddering of my fingers and thumbs against her big balls. The result being a further hardening of that huge cock, which must easily be nine or ten inches now, becoming fatter and longer all the time. It lifts a little more with each shudder, veins bulging along its pale length, the foreskin-shrouded head becoming ever more noticeable.

‘I…say lots of things.’ It comes out meek, but most of all slutty. It dawns on me, in the heat of this most magical of moments, that I am a verifiable fucking whore in the Venyabildt house. It might once have bothered me, but right now, it simply fills me with pride. ‘I call Freya Mistress, because she owns me,’ I say, continuing. ‘I call Morrigan…well, things are a little bit complex with your older daughter.’

‘As is always the case,’ Persephone says. ‘Go on. Tell me what you like to do with them.’

It feels like some carnal confession, all the more so to realise that it’s being recorded. The tantalising temptress smiles dirtily at me, watching with endless eagerness as I continue to grope and toy with her dangling balls, working up a doubtlessly extra-heavy load and yet wanting, craving, to give them a much more intimate form of attention via my mouth, lips, and tongue.

‘I like to please them. I like to make them happy. I like it when they use my body. I like…I like worshipping them like the goddesses they are.’

Persephone hardens, and hardens, and hardens. I find it suddenly impossible to keep my focus on her gaze, because her dick is now over a foot in length and, on account of its particular combination of qualities – length, thickness, and especially the fatness of her helmet, I imagine – it can’t seem to quite get completely straight, stiffening with a gentle curve with the base being higher than the tip.

‘I…like to…’ The enormous erection rises to the point that its heat brushes against my chin, and the sexual scents of her potent musk fill my nostrils, provoking instinctual salivation. ‘…suck their cocks…’

Persephone’s cockhead bumps up against the underside of my chin, and I draw in a ragged, sudden breath. It’s definitely a bit bigger than Mistress’s, combining the best qualities of both, and I barely notice that my hands are moving of their own accord. My fingers slide up the sag of her sack and gingerly take hold of the heavy base of the girthy, gigantic thing, its fierce throbs sending lewd shockwaves through my hands.

I lick my lips, and pull my face a little backwards, so as to lift her bell-end towards my mouth. The sight of the glossy pinkness lurking within the soft folds of outer skin is captivating, the broadness and bulk of that badly-hidden helmet leaving me without words for a long and lustful moment.

‘You can suck mine all you like, Tom,’ the older woman says, straightening her neck, smiling graciously down at me. As if she’s the queen, the empress, the goddess, and I’m some very lucky serf confronted with the highest and noblest of honours. It certainly feels that way, given how lustful I am towards her, towards her family, towards this fantastic life of mine. ‘There’s only three rules you need to abide by, though I imagine it’s one you’d adhere to without me needing to give it.’

At last the seductive older woman reaches for me, bringing the tips of a couple of fingers belonging to her right hand softly against my left cheek, stroking about the bone, forming little fleeting circles. ‘Firstly, you always have to swallow. Every single drop. Secondly, you need to show the camera as much of my loads as you can. And thirdly, best of all, I need you to thank me afterwards. To thank me for the luxury of filling that handsome mouth with the source of those two daughters of mine that you so very much adore.’

Persephone is, completely and utterly, an enormous pervert. The apples clearly don’t fall far from the tree, and I can’t begin to comprehend just how grateful I am for that fact. We both relish the wickedness of this, the depravity, the sharing of such a sordid, lustful, dirty game. Her little comments throughout, referencing her daughters, bringing me back to the wider picture…it only makes my heart beat more thunderously.

‘I…agree to your rules, um…Daddy?’

She smiles all the wider. ‘Wonderful, darling.’ Relaxing into her throne, drawing back her fingers, Persephone lets out a warm sigh. ‘Show the cameras what you can do, Tom. Let’s enjoy our day together.’

I don’t have an appropriate response, not a verbal one. I nod, however, and wet my lips, and softly squeeze the throbbing base of her enormous erection. A slight shift of my chin, side to side, brushes its hooded helmet against my skin, and the heat and opulence are obvious. Part of me wants to simply tug back the foreskin, to reveal the bulky prize, but…there’s no rush. No rush, and to even passingly reflect on the quality of the thick white cream which I sucked out of her wife’s pussy that night is to come to the resounding conclusion that this is not something to be done, but something to be lived.

To begin with, I slide my hands a little upwards on her length, appreciating the veins, the heaviness of the monumental pole. Some of the movement is simply about relishing her size, adoring the massiveness of her manhood, but there’s another benefit as well.

‘Good boy,’ Persephone says, as I dip my head forwards, wetting my lips on the way towards those fat stuffed balls. ‘Sperm lovers are my favourite kind of cocksucker. My girls certainly have good taste in their playthings.’

I don’t formulate a comment, snarky or sensual, completely mesmerised by the hugeness of those hairless lumps. They sag low, and the silkiness of their surrounding sack is loose, forming a few wrinkles towards the bottom, dangling lower than her big beautiful balls. The closer I get the finer her scent becomes, musky and virile, fitting a futanari of her quality. Stronger than that of her daughters, but that’s not unsurprising, especially given what Morrigan has told me. If this is the future of their biology, well, I am certainly the luckiest man on the planet.

Mwah, smooch, mwah, smack.

Starting with the left testicle, I deliver a few quick kisses, successively deepening them as I apply my lips again and again to her lascivious lumps. They’re warm, cooler than her cock, possessing a firmness that doesn’t throb aggressively like the monster they’ll ultimately fuel with spunk. I divide my attention between both, smooching and kissing, treating them with such affection, only passingly aware that this whole submissive display is being filmed.
‘Very good. Make love to them, darling. Make out with them.’

She doesn’t have to tell me, for it comes so naturally. Bit by bit, my lips grow sticky with whatever residual sweat coats her loins, and when I taste the stuff – always hungrily tasting it, relishing the combination of saltiness and pheromonal intensity – my lips return to her nuts with a spit-slick wetness which assists in the transition.

‘Mhmf. Mumph.’

Schlup, slurp, mwah, smooch, schlep, slurp.

Before I know it, I’m nursing on her right bollock, struggling to get the fat thing in my mouth but doing a fine job of at least suckling on the underside of it. The loose skin, the firmness of the orb itself, are wonderful within and against my lips. My tongue works wildly, soaking the soft flesh, drinking in the potent sexual flavours of her virile seed-makers.

‘Ooh. God, I’ve missed men’s mouths,’ Persephone says, shuddering against and around me. ‘I love Alicia, I love Morrigan, I love those slutty girls at work who–aah–can’t help but think relieving my tensions will result in bonuses or promotions…but there’s nothing like having a man do this.’ She brings a gentle hand down atop my head, not for guidance but simply to pat, to stroke, to appreciate. ‘If it were up to my mother, every man in the world would do as you do, but not of his own volition. Personally, I–mhm–find it far more sexy that you’re doing this because you want to, rather than because you have to, but she did always think me weak.’

The tall temptress chuckles warmly, and I leave her right ball with a parting suckle, moving towards the left. ‘I’d do this every day, Daddy. I’m pretty sure your daughters think this is my place, though Mistress does enjoy mounting me quite a bit.’

Schlep, slup, schlurp, slup.

‘At least for these videos, I prefer to be serviced, but I might be convinced to let you ride me,’ she says. ‘I’m not fond of putting in the work, you see. Rather lazy, in my dominance.’ Persephone continues to play with my hair, to pat my head. ‘Ooh. Darling. I’m going to feed that naughty mouth such a banquet. Have either of my girls told you about what age does, to futanari balls?’

‘Mhm-hm.’

She chuckles. ‘You’re quite the man, Tom. To be so confident in himself as to allow his tongue to act as a dumping ground for the excess produce of a bigger cock, a larger pair of balls, than he himself possesses.’ Persephone trembles lightly as she talks, throbbing firmer against my hands. ‘It doesn’t intimidate you, does it?’

I pull away a moment, smacking my lips, tasting the delightfully dirty flavours of her big beautiful balls. ‘It’s divine,’ I say. ‘I can’t think of a finer thing than tasting you, or your daughters. Your seed is clearly superior, so why shouldn’t I be grateful for the chance to earn it, to taste it, and to swallow it?’

Schlep, schlurp, slurp, schlep, mwah, slurp.

The shiver which results, as I return to her right bollock, is profound. Persephone even slightly lifts from the chair, flexing her powerful legs, consumed for a few moments by something glorious and impossible to deny. Simple words, the kind of words I happily recite to her daughters, but despite her years and sexual sublimeness, it doesn’t seem that the futanari father is hugely acquainted with such statements of absolute ascension to her needs.

‘God, I wish I’d–mhm–prepared for this.’ She seems reluctant to fully relax, as if on the cusp of something like a climax already, though I doubt she can be that near after such little effort on my part. It’s psychological in nature, I’d assume. Made more than clear when she says, ‘We make these p-ills. But they need a bit of preparation. Three days.’

I hesitate to leave her loins, but I know exactly what she’s referring to. Understand intimately, in fact, given what Morrigan was talking about just the other day. The recollection of that passing comment provokes a shiver through my dick, to say the least.

‘So what Morrigan mentioned to me wasn’t a lie? She wasn’t just teasing?’

Persephone seems to regain some of her faculties, immediately setting her gaze upon mine. ‘Oh, of course she’d mention the pills. It works both ways with her, how silly of me to forget.’

‘So you really can make, um, futa cum…filling?’

The pale, blonde, beautiful dickgirl DILF nods slowly. ‘Of course. It’s exactly the kind of naughty thing we like in this household. Does that interest you?’

‘Y-eah.’ Shit, I practically splutter the reply. Persephone’s cheeks redden, and she smirks up one side of her mouth. ‘I mean, um, yes.’

‘We’ll have to arrange that.’ She slowly licks her lips, right around the curve of her mouth. ‘Get back to me, darling. Make your way up to the prize.’

She doesn’t have to tell me twice, nor do I delay even for a moment. To bury my face back between her large and lovely loins comes so naturally to me, some illicit imitation of motorboating, getting her spit-wetted orbs slapping wonderfully, warmly, against my cheeks.

Schfup, schfup, schfup, schfup.

‘Ugh. Good boy. Know your place. Mhm.’

Even that seems to give her pleasure, though she still makes no effort to touch my head, to play with my hair. Her appreciation for oral worship is so severe that even with my clumsy, in some sense inexperienced techniques – it’s only been a few months with her daughters, after all – I’m nonetheless having a wonderful effect on her. Giving her no end of joy, as her beautiful balls bounce and wobble against my face, slapping my skin, leaving their distinctive and delightfully virile musky scent upon my features.

Mwah, smack, melp, smooch, mwah.

Bit by bit, I rise upwards, shifting my head about, continuing my appreciation for her proud and perfect male organ. The loose skin of her sack is gentle against my skin, wonderful upon my lips. I taste it a little, licking the tops of her balls, but ultimately passing beyond them, working my way to the bulky base of her supreme member. The first pressing of my mouth against it, the kissing of its enormity, gives me a good insight into her captivating power, for the throb I’m met with leaves my lips tingling with the feisty force of it.

‘Fuck, I love big dick.’

I say it proudly, only recalling after the fact that it’s going to be on film now. It reddens my cheeks, but is there any lie to it? Anything to be ashamed of?

‘Of course you do, darling. And you’re in the–mhm–right house for that.’

Pressing my lips against her cum vein, I glance past her thickness in some hope of catching her gorgeous blue gaze. Her chest is too big, however, and I’m too low down her dick, to get a glimpse of the beautiful blonde’s amorous stare. Doubtless watching me, all the same, or viewing on the computer behind and above me the film in progress.

Mwah, mlep, smack, mlap, smooch, mwah.

She shivers with each application of my appreciative mouth against the underside of her cock, every slick swirling usage of my tastebuds. Her manhood is less thickly flavoured than her balls, possessing a saltiness from her skin but lacking the overwhelming sense of virility that seems to exude from those powerfully productive orbs. Nonetheless, the skin is silky soft, the inner hardness rigid and wondrous, and I like the taste of her flesh. Salty, simple, but ever so pleasant.

As I get higher up her cock, dragging my lips, my tongue, and taking my time, I’m met with Persephone’s perfect eyes and her winning smile. She looks down at me with a kind of pride I can only describe as fatherly, and it suits her character. The patriarch, the dickgirl DILF, the “man” of the house. But gorgeous, where no man has ever seemed to me. Sweet as sin, affectionate, sensual. It only makes me love what I’m doing all the more, knowing who I’m doing it to. Knowing that before long, I’m going to be tasting Daddy, first in the form of her precum, and then her cum proper, doubtless released in a particularly heavy helping upon my lucky and lustful tongue.

‘Good boy,’ she says. ‘So nice to see you again.’

I’d chuckle warmly, if I could stop my mouth from its obvious natural purpose. ‘Thank–mwah, smack–you–smooch, mlep–Daddy.’

‘So very welcome, darling boy. I’ll have to–mhm–work from home more often.’

I dip my head to the side, smooching the flank of her thickness, pressing my lips against its largeness and running them up and down. To glance to the left is to see those previously-adored balls, drooping over the seat of her chair between her thick thighs, and to glance right is to not quite catch a glimpse of her huge helmet, my near future, awaiting me.

Her prick pulses particularly firmly, the gorgeous woman doubtless making sense of my appetites. It can only empower her interest in me, to know how badly I want to taste her, to service her. Willingness, just as she said, is so much of the beauty here.

‘You really are a born cocksucker, Tom,’ Persephone says. ‘I can’t believe how little time it’s taken for–aah–Freya to turn you into this.’

‘Maybe I always was,’ I say, smirking as I say it, as I apply my mouth again and again. The sides of her cock are sufficiently large that it almost strains me to get my lips against them, to rub my mouth side to side and glaze them with spit, but I’ve got a powerful need within me to explore every inch of this dick. ‘It…it doesn’t feel like something I learned, so much as something I discovered about myself.’

‘Born, then.’ Persephone smiles, and cocks her head to the side. ‘Born to drop to your knees for us. You act as if you’d go a lifetime without getting any pleasure in return, as well. Men like you are such fine, rare things.’

She shuts her eyes and sighs, seeming to be in paradise. To be sitting in her opulent chair, a veritable throne, and being tended to like this. My teenage lips, her middle-aged dick. I’ve no doubts it arouses her as much as it does me, the naughtier elements of this.

Mwah, slurp, smooch, mwah, schlep.

Persephone doesn’t open her eyes, as I continue to make my way up her cock. Somehow that lack of action makes things all the lustier within me, to watch her bountiful chest rising and falling, to witness this goddess in mortal form effectively seeing me as nothing more than a source of pleasure. A source of pleasure she’s entitled to, and understands implicitly will cater to her sensual needs without protest or delay.

‘Mhmf.’

I let out an unavoidable moan as my questing tongue brushes over, and scoops up, its first taste of her precum. A few inches yet separate me from her helmet, clad presently in foreskin, but in combining a slight tilting of my head to the side and glancing in that direction I find a surprising abundance of the delightfully salty, potently sexual stuff dribbling down those final few – or first few, depending on your starting point! – inches of glorious girlcock. The way her bell-end bulges outwards, wider than the shaft leading up to it, only furthers my interest in that gorgeous gobstopper that I’m soon to arrive at.

‘Don’t pull back my foreskin,’ Persephone says, eyes still shut. ‘Not that I expected you to suddenly do so, but I want it to roll back naturally. In response to your nursing.’

It’s a particularly perverse choice of phrase, and it makes my cock noticeably ache. ‘R-ight. Anything you say, D-addy.’

I’m struck with this dirty notion that the futanari father’s particular flavour of kink involving her cock and semen leans towards a kind of nurture. Where for Freya it’s this act of great satisfaction and joy, and for Morrigan it’s a means to make me submit and acknowledge her as my superior, Persephone seems to have a different shade of excitement about the whole act. As appreciative as she is to my worship, as much as it clearly makes her happy, it’s almost as if she sees the ultimate end-state here to be almost akin to a feeding.

Mwah, slup, smooch, mwah, schlup.

As I continue my adoration over the last few inches, her powerful penis and its silken skin now constantly glazing my tastebuds with her rich and salty, almost faintly tangy pre-ejaculate, my eyes remain in a state of tantalisingly thoughtful wideness as it sinks in just how horny the prospect of being fed by Daddy, and her daughters, makes me.

I am no stranger to their semen. No stranger to considering what that thick white creamy stuff is, knowing that it’s some combination of various fluids and thicknesses produced inside of their beautiful bodies. The prospect of tasting sperm alone possesses great eroticism to it, the prospect of receiving into my mouth this effectively living substance, this veritable legion of little wriggling white tadpole-looking things that are intended for reproduction’s sake as opposed to something so utterly vulgar as being consumed and digested for pleasure.

But as my lips glide beyond the tip of her throbbing majesty, glazed in her juices, I’m struck with the insistently powerful notion that nothing seems quite so submissive, nor so sexy, as the possibility of spending the odd day, now and then, effectively relying on Mistress, or her father, or her big sister, as a source of meals. That joke about protein and cum has never before felt quite so intimate, or intimidating.

‘Why the pause, darling?’ Persephone says. In my thoughtfulness, I hadn’t noticed her opened eyes, her curious smile. ‘You don’t seem to have stopped for the sake of marvelling at the scenery.’

I shake my head slowly. ‘I’m just thinking about…those pills. And…what they would mean.’

She grins a little, lush lips hinting at such perfect white teeth. ‘Well, it’s quite simple, isn’t it? Imagine how special you’d feel, how important you’d feel, how sexy you’d feel if someone willingly chose to forgo normal food in favour of dropping to their knees and servicing you. I can hardly think of anything more erotic, honestly. It’s why I like that word. Nursing.’

I shiver, and she seems all the happier for it. ‘Have you…have you done this with anyone?’

‘Alicia and I tried it, a while ago, but she found it too degrading. Wonderful a cocksucker as my wife is, as much as she loves gulping down the same seed she eagerly took into her womb to give us our gorgeous girls, she found the idea of dropping to her knees for breakfast, lunch, and dinner a little bit too much.’

It makes me feel ever so passingly judged, but it’s not a bad feeling. A kind of…realisation that I’m the sort of person who would willingly degrade himself, to such an extent. But perhaps it’s because I’m a man, and I’ve got that latent fascination with cocks and their capacity to shoot out cum, and alongside it the awareness that there exists no finer set of dicks than those of the Venyabildt family.

‘Fuck.’

Persephone chuckles, and licks her lower lip slowly, left to right. ‘The degradation is part of the point, Tom. Besides, Morrigan and I do it sometimes.’

‘You feed her your cum?’

‘Oh, yes. You seem so surprised.’

‘I just…tend to think of her as…’ No. No, it’s clearer and clearer that Morrigan is a great deal more variable in her kinkiness than Freya. ‘Morrigan is complicated.’

‘She is,’ Persephone says. ‘But we can discuss that some other time, when we’re not being recorded, and when my cock isn’t urgently in need of release.’ She slowly reaches for me, lowering her right hand down upon my head. ‘Go on, darling. Worship me. You deserve the opportunity.’

There’s wisdom, in focussing on the present. I nod and wet my lips, saliva flowing voluminously at the prospect of sating her lust, and savouring the divine dick offered to my lucky mouth by this mortal goddess. The time for kisses has passed, now, given how much slickness glistens up the length of her. I could give some more, of course, but more than anything I want her hooded helmet inside my mouth.

It's not much larger than Morrigan’s, but as I close that final distance, I nonetheless hesitate on account of its hugeness, its radiant heat. My lips tremble as they come within reach of the glazed exterior folds of that slightly loose foreskin, a familial trait of these futanaris clearly being that I always have to unwrap these perverse presents they so readily offer me.

‘Mhmf. Mumph.’

I let out a muffled moan, as I get the very forwardmost bit of her bell-end – yet shrouded – between my lips. Her skin is ever so soft, though the core of her cock is anything but. Its heat is radiant, making my lips tingle and quiver as they come into contact with that captivating combination of the loose gentleness of her helmet’s hood and at the same time, the hints of abject rigidity beneath it.

Schlup, slurp, schlep, schlurp, slurp.

It comes so naturally, to suck, to run my tongue across the interesting softness of her protruding bit of foreskin. To soak my tongue with her salty, potent, virile fluids, distinctly stronger even than Morrigan’s. Aged futanari, the chief of this little tribe, the empress of this household realm. It glazes my tastebuds, seems to flow excessively, and my suction readily helps it load my mouth with such sensually filthy flavour.

‘That’s it,’ Persephone says. ‘Suck, and use your tongue. Get that–mhm–naughty thing inside my foreskin. Roll it around. Taste me utterly, absolutely.’

She speaks with such perverse passion, clearly adoring this. I meet her eyes and blush harder, my cheeks aflame, my heart racing. I obey, of course, because what else would I possibly do? The inside of her sensual shroud is like velvet, ever so soft, and those titillating tastes grow all the richer, all the more bountiful. Dirtier, as well, reminding me consciously that this is a penis, no matter how perfect it is, but that only makes me enjoy it more. To sanitise this by distracting myself from the truth of what I’m doing would be a terrible insult not merely to Daddy herself, but to my true nature.

Because I am, in this house, with these women, a cocksucker.

‘Mhmf. Mhm-hm.’

Schlurp, schlup, slurp, schlup, schlep.

Her helmet is pearly-smooth, all the more interesting for the faint sense of constriction that its hood offers. I’m not moving my tongue about freely here, bound instead to the faintly elastic limits of that looseness, and so appreciating at once the lustrous nature of that lascivious lump and, as well, the velvet interior of those naughty dirty folds.

‘Ooh. Darling. That feels wonderful. My girls have taught you ever so well.’

My eyelids flutter as my lucky tastebuds soak thoroughly in her precum, the stickiness ever so delicious. I try to keep eye contact with Persephone’s beautiful blues, but my position is such that distraction comes in an unlikely, and greatly enjoyable form. Movement at the bottom of my visual field draws my attention to the way that my exploratory tongue, going so far into the older woman’s foreskin that it visibly bulges while I trace out its limits and the chunky contours of her cock’s crown.

It makes it ever so real, ever so wonderful, to know what my mouth is doing. To know what part of her body I’m so thoroughly engaged with. To watch, mesmerised, as if it’s not under my control. I even pause, to remind myself, and it only makes it better. God, I love sucking cock!

Schlup, slurp-schlep, schlurp, schlurp-schlup.

‘Aah. Mhm. Darling Tom, you’re such a fine pet.’ Daddy exhales through her nostrils, the pretty things flaring faintly, and she tangles her fingers through my hair. ‘You’ll never, ever go a day without dick for the rest of your life. And honestly, I’ll have to see to it that you m-arry my daughter, because then you’ll somewhat literally be my son, and this will be–aah–all the sweeter.’

The way she bites her lip, slightly tilts back her head, coaxes some innate need to watch her gorgeous face and begin bobbing my head in earnest. I keep swirling my tongue about within her foreskin, appreciating those bulky curves of her bell-end, adoring the stringy band that links the skin to the underside of her glans, but in taking more of her cockhead into my mouth I’m forced to slowly but surely withdraw my tongue.

Luckily, luxuriously, her loose hood begins to slip away in turn, as if knowing that more than anything that humungous head needs to be exposed raw and unprotected to the horny hunger offered by my young mouth. Right now, it’s hers, belongs to her, is dedicated to her. Were I not so distracted by her erotic expressions, her immensely pleasing mature good-looks, and the anticipation of her helmet slipping fully free of its confines, I’d make some effort to tease at her balls and remind myself that this is going to end in a thoroughly creamy fashion.

But that little detail will have to wait.

‘Mhmf. Mhm.’

I moan in a muffled, slutty fashion, as her foreskin slides backwards and frees an explosion of sexual juices into my mouth. It liberates that lustrous head completely, so that my sucked-in cheeks can get used to the velvet fire of the profoundly plump prominence, and it makes my tongue’s job easier albeit at the cost of that confined carnality of a moment before.

‘Ooh. Darling boy,’ Daddy Persephone says, her whole body rocked by a sudden salacious shiver. ‘Suck that cock, you dutiful little dick-pleaser. It’s only right that you–mhm–get a fresh helping of that seed I bet you’ve been craving ever since you ate it out of sweet Alicia.’

Schlup-slurp, schluck, slurp, schlurp, schlurp-schlup.

It spurs me on like nothing else in the world, the prospect of much sought-after semen for my cum-crazed mind. I bob my head and fill my mouth with as much of her as I can, without going so far as to deepthroat her just yet. It’s barely a dent on the full and fantastic futanari glory of her length, the big pale cock possessing only two peers that I know of in the entire universe.

The act of suction is so natural to me now, so innate. I do it for her daughters, and now it seems that I’m going to be doing it for their father, as well. Cocks need to be served, but perhaps despite my submission there’s also a delightful truth to the possibility that it’s these cocks that are solely deserving of my affection. I wouldn’t do this for just anyone, but a Venyabildt beauty…who am I to deny them?

It doesn’t matter that she’s not looking at my face, doesn’t matter that right now I’m nothing more than a source of sexual satisfaction for her. I would do this anytime, anywhere, so long as it involved one of those fabled three. To roll my tongue around their bulky bell-ends, to swallow down their sticky salty juices, sweeter in Mistress’s case and saltiest in Persephone’s, is a reward for myself as much as for them. Whatever pleasure they get from this – and judging by their continued demands of me, it must be quite a lot! – I get from them the sordid satisfaction of tending to their beautiful bodies and devoting myself to their deliciously delightful dicks.

To bob my head in this fashion, to flick my tongue at the eyelet of Daddy’s glans, and to do my best to create a cuddling crush around her thick throbbing contours, makes my member twitch and my balls ache. What she said earlier is doubtless the case, doubtless speaks to me on some primal level. That I’m a man, and recognise the masculinity in these organs, even if they’re attached to such gorgeous girls. Like recognises like, and it finds in them a sublime superiority.

Schlup-slurp, schlurp, schlep, slurp-schlup.

‘Mumph. Mhmf.’

My body agrees with my mind, agrees with the primal hunger in me. Everything else in the world falls to the wayside, irrelevant in comparison to the need to do this thing, to take care of her gorgeous cock as best I can.

I kiss the tip of her helmet with the opening of my throat, time and again, with every completion of the back-forth movement. Her bulky bell-end is sufficiently large that it touches upon everything, even without much effort on my part, not dissimilar to Morrigan’s. Yet with her cock being so phenomenally thick and long as well, like Mistress’s, I’m strangely intimidated by the prospect of taking her deeper.

It’s not like her daughters are much smaller than she is. I run my eyes along her length, appreciating the soft bush of wispy blonde at the base of her prick, and the loveliness of those thighs that frame the sight as if it’s some world-class painting. And Persephone is, despite her innate dominance, particularly soft and comforting.

As she sets her eyes on me again, somehow it clicks.

The cameras. There, in the back of my head, the thing I keep intermittently forgetting, because it’s so easy to imagine that this is simply a normal sexual situation and not something involving a permanent recording of the erotic events.

My eyelids flutter, and my cheeks grow fiery hot, as the low-grade anxiety makes sense. I’m comfortable with my sluttiness, to some degree. Comfortable doing these dirty deeds with the Venyabildt futanaris, day in, day out, but…the prospect of hearing the lurid sloppiness of my deepthroating played back to me in recorded form, the absolute sordidness of my throat making and breaking that most salacious of seals, is a peculiarly powerful one.

‘Something the matter?’ Persephone says, cocking her head to the side. The lust and attraction in those shifting blue eyes is inspiring, but not entirely liberating.

‘I’ve just…’ I casually pull my mouth from her glans, letting the thing pulse and drool ahead of my lips. Turning quickly to the left and right, I vaguely catch the locations of those cameras, and my cheeks burn all the hotter. ‘…never been recorded before.’

She smiles warmly, possessing of a friendly humour. ‘Now you’ve got my curiosity. What’s changed, Tom?’

‘Well, I was planning to deepthroat you, but–’

Persephone chuckles. ‘Darling boy, I appreciate the offer, but it’s not quite my thing. I’m rather good at holding back, but the prospect of loading your throat instead of your mouth seems more than tragic. Disastrous, when I want you to taste me. When I want you to want to taste me.’

She brings her right hand to the side of my face, gracing it with the tips of a few fingers, passing them down to take gentle hold of my jaw. ‘Just suck the tip, darling. Just the tip, and I’ll fill that mouth. It’s the most sensitive part, after all, and as much as I understand you wanting to appreciate all of me, you’ve got me rather worked up as it stands. Snog the head of my cock, and you’ll work wonders, I promise.’

It's a curious surge of uncertainties, the wave of feelings that skid through my head. I do very much want to deepthroat her, relishing the prospect despite the nerves surrounding the sloppy slutty sounds that will inevitably result. But there’s also the powerful insistence on obeying her, on doing what she wants of me regardless of what I want for myself.

And I would be lying to myself if I pretended that sucking on futanari bell-ends, such fat gobstopper things, was anything short of divine.

Schluck-slurp, schlep-slurp, schlurp-slurp, schlap-slurp.

‘Mhmf. Mhm-hm.’

‘Good boy. Don’t you dare stop, now. Don’t you dare–aah–kill something so perfect as this.’

She’s back inside my mouth in a heartbeat, the kiss upon her lustrous helmet followed by what amounts to a smooch upon the entirety of my mouth’s interior. A wave of foreign and fantastic heat, an explosion of her dirty and delightful juices, and so much throbbing spongy-firm pearly-smooth paradise to worship with my tongue.

Our eyes remain locked, now, and she keeps her hand against my jaw. Fingers softly fidgeting, teasing and toying with me. Her touch is ever so silken, her hand suggestive of strength despite its beautiful womanliness. And it’s all too easy to lose myself in the sapphires of her eyes, to become nothing more than a head that bobs and a mouth that sucks and a tongue that tends, forgetting the world and affirming my adoration for this futanari who in some indirect sense I’ve tasted many times now.

‘Ugh. You’re such a fine boy, Tom. So g-ood at this.’

‘Mhm. Mhm.’

Schluck-slurp, schlep-slurp, schlurp-slurp, schlap-slurp.

I respond with an appreciative moaning, continuing my carnal sequence, having found a sufficiently suitable rhythm for making her day. My tongue rolls around her curved contours, tickles at that band beneath her helmet, pokes and laps from time to time at the eyelet at the front which so generously releases a constant flow of sensual saltiness.

My mouth is thoroughly lubricated, and no amount of guzzling her juices changes that fact. Every surface is slick and slimy, making her presence all the easier to contend with, making every movement a thing of flowing magnificence. The heat of her massive penis is practically incendiary, warming my cheeks, deepening their constant blush. I swoon over every little pleasure-induced shifting of her perfect face, the happiness writ upon those excessive good looks practically addictive in nature.

The subservience of this act is part of its beauty. The fact that I’ve tasted both of her daughters’ semen multiple times across the past perfection that is my life since Freya’s arrival in it, is not lost on me. It floats around, pokes and prods, enhances my already-immense adoration for this woman and the blowjob I’m so eagerly giving her.

‘Ooh. Darling, that’s wonderful. You’re such a natural at–mhmf–taking care of a cock.’

Her praise is breathy, a little shuddery, and I’m dimly aware that her thighs are clenching and quaking on either side of me. A trick of my peripheral vision, possibly, given that I can’t take my eyes off the older woman, but it wouldn’t surprise me. Endurance is one thing, and she clearly has an abundance of it, but Persephone is unbelievably aroused right now.

Just as I can’t pull my eyes from her, her own gaze stays rigidly affixed on my face. Such a force of focus provokes twitching around her lips, even on the prettiness of her throat, as if every part of her wants sorely to throw her head back and yet she’s consciously choosing to maintain the stare. To maintain the only insight she has into the workings of my whorish brain, and in doing so bask in the fact that this spur-of-the-moment perversion is entirely mutual.

‘Mhmf. Mumph.’

Schluck-slurp, schlep-slurp, schlurp-slurp, schlap-slurp.

The sounds of my service tickle the bones of my back, make my balls stir and shiver. What she spoke of before is so clearly the case, this innate recognition of her own male qualities, and the lurid result it has in turn. A superior penis, and I’m taking very good care of it. A superior set of balls, and within them, superior futanari seed. It provokes a particular shade of pleasure, a sense of satisfaction originating not from anything physical but purely born of the magic of the mind.

Her cock, just like those of her two daughters, is meant to be inside my mouth. Made to be sucked on, to be worshipped. I can’t pretend that this isn’t my true nature, can’t deny that Mistress clearly woke up an unquenchable hunger deep within me. Doubtless Daddy can’t see it, but I’m smiling around her dick, smiling at the passing curiosity of what life I’d have lived without Freya Venyabildt having entered it.

A tragedy, but not one I have to face!

‘God, Freya and Morrigan deserve all the praise in the world for this,’ Persephone says, on the very cusp of chewing on her bottom lip. It almost seems a passingly immature gesture, for a woman of her age and authority, and yet it simply emboldens my sense of pride. ‘I don’t know how I’ll–aah–broach the topic. Perhaps a family viewing.’ My eyes instinctively widen, and she chuckles a touch cruelly, and gently teases at my jawline. ‘I’m joking, darling. This can be our–mhm–little secret. Only shared when, and if, you feel comfortable doing so.’

Schluck-slurp, schlep-slurp, schlurp-slurp, schlap-slurp.

I would nod, if it wouldn’t get lost in the servile bobbing of my head, the swallowing of her copious precum. Hopefully my eyes show some hint of gratitude, though the need to give it comes from a place of submission as opposed to logic. Her kindness, even in the throes of practically owning my mouth, is nonetheless very much appreciated.

‘Mhmf. Mhm.’

She smiles at my sounds, relishing every little naughty noise that manages to escape my lips. Barely, given how tightly I’m sucking on her, but the sounds are loud all the same. Perhaps enhanced by the semi-confining nature of the office desk on either side of me, and the fact that in some lovely lurid sense I’m hemmed-in here between her cock and a hard place.

Persephone goes to speak but her lips hang open, the beautiful curves of her mouth failing to find the right choice of words. It’s that, and all the little things like it, which build this fiery sense of pride in me. More so than with her daughters, who in many ways feel more, I suppose, on my level. But to be having such an effect on the futanari patriarch herself is a thrilling thing, a mark of my quality as a cocksucker.

‘Aahn. D-arling,’ she settles for saying, a testament to her pleasure. Persephone, so beautiful and so authoritative, seems so close to being undone now. Her bountiful chest rises and falls, her shoulders seem intent on rolling and flexing to give her some semblance of control, but it’s all futile.

I keep sucking on her helmet, keep lavishing it with licks of the tongue, keep slurping down her tasty salty juices, and relishing the way the massive thing shudders and pulses. It won’t be long, but she seems to be holding on as much as she can. It won’t be long, and yet I find myself recalling the rich flavour of her seed and wanting nothing else in the world quite so badly at this moment.

‘Mhmf. Mumph.’

Schluck-slurp, schlep-slurp, schlurp-slurp, schlap-slurp.

‘You just…don’t…ugh…quit, do you?’ Persephone grits her teeth, and presses her feet against the floor. Her knees strain, and the tidal wave of spooge seems to be on the very cusp of release. ‘God, you’re…far too…g-ood at this.’

It’s like a playful war, between us. Me, continuing my ministrations, and Daddy, doing her best not to empty her balls. And yet, like entropy, the need to cum is a force of nature that cannot be delayed for long.

Persephone shuts her eyes, ending our staring contest. She shakes her head, blonde hair shivering about her shoulders, and lets out a single-note lustful chuckle. ‘Fucking hell, Tom. You’re–guh–too good!’

The only real warning I get, beyond the overarching familiarity with this act, is the powerful bulging of her cum vein against my lower lip. It gives me just enough of a warning, quick as my tongue is, to get it nice and flat to catch all of the thick creaminess those beautiful balls have in store for my lucky mouth.

It comes out in dense squirts, much heavier than that of either daughter. Premium virility, aged and creamy, rich and savoury, salty and tangy. It splatters across my tongue, possessing a weightiness to it that surprises me, even though I’ve experienced it before. From a very different orifice, admittedly, but nonetheless, it catches me off-guard that her jism is simply so gooey and viscous fresh out of her cockhead.

‘Ooh. Darling. God, yes.’

Persephone tries to look at me, but the pleasure is too great. She throws her head back against the chair’s headrest, and quakes and quivers, rocked by body-wide ripples of gleeful satisfaction.

My mouth is already full, and I can do nothing but swallow her pride. It goes down in thick gulps, warming everything it touches, coating the insides of my gullet as it rolls messily into my belly. Naturally, Persephone simply releases more, and I’m more than thankful for the sheer heaviness of her load. There’s no risk of it shooting right at my throat, or otherwise overloading my capacity to handle it. It’s an almost perfect consistency for devouring, in fact, and as the growing sensation of filthy fullness builds, and her balls steadily drain to a more manageable state.

‘Mhmf. Mhm-hm.’

It feels like it takes many minutes, but it surely can’t be so long. My mouth is filled twice, thrice, and I make sure only to guzzle down what’s absolutely necessary, ensuring that I get to savour her delicious spooge for as long as possible. Not necessarily better than that of either daughter, but possessing distinction – as they all have – to make it unique. A flavour already burned upon my memory, but now absolutely engraved into the fabric of my neurons.

‘I love to see you swallow,’ Persephone says, wetting her lips. She opens one eye at me, smirking broadly. ‘A fine sight. The finest. A handsome young man, earning his–aah–keep, in my household. You’re such a horny thing, darling Tom.’

The perverse playfulness, the taunting, makes my eyes flutter. She is powerful, after all, and there’s a dynamic to this that appeals greatly as a result. Something about swallowing down the delicious dick milk of so authoritative a woman, the father of my Mistress, tickles at the lustiest portions of the soul. It’s more than fine for me, so it must be absurdly good for her, to be served like this, to get just what she wanted without so much as lifting a finger. Just sitting back in her office chair, being tended to, taken care of.

As I swallowed the last of it, I felt a pang of guilt, wishing that I hadn’t. Wishing that I’d kept some back, to show it to her, to exemplify just how crazy I was about dickgirls and their deliciousness, but what’s done is done. And as I lick my lips, contended, her thick flavour lingering across my tastebuds, I’m aware that this certainly won’t be the last time I do this.

‘You taste so good,’ I say, letting go of her bell-end from my lips. Her cock continues to tremble, but it gently softens, having spent its prodigious payload. ‘Really good.’

‘I imagine I would, for a cocksucker like you,’ Persephone says, shooting me a naughty wink. ‘Do you want to see the footage?’

I’d forgotten about that side of things. ‘Right now?’

‘Why not? I might tweak it a little later, but there’s no shame in wanting to take pride in one’s work.’ Daddy smirks, mischievous and magnificent, and rolls her chair slightly backwards. Much as I long to continue playing with her cock and balls, I’m dimly aware that I’ve spent…a fair while here, with her. ‘Up you get, darling. Much as Freya agreed to this, and as much as I’d love to see how embarrassed you might get caught on your knees for Daddy, I’m not so cruel as to risk that.’

She helps me to my feet, stronger than she looks. That same overall build as Morrigan, in many ways, lacking for Mistress’s marvellous muscles. But despite the womanliness of these futanaris, they possess a degree of strength that sits at odds with their surface-level appearance.

‘Thank you,’ I say, generally.

Generally, because I want to thank her for letting me suck her dick as well as for the helping hand, but I find myself surprisingly coy. Her dominance seems the sort that inspires one to come towards her, as opposed to Morrigan’s approach of bringing herself to me. Somehow it seems especially kinky to be eager to thank her for the opportunity of servicing her, but thankfully I don’t let it show on my face. Not any more than the rest of my blushing enthusiasm.

‘You’re very welcome,’ Persephone says, voice like song, velvet lustiness. She nods softly towards the monitor on the desk. ‘Have a look at this.’

My cheeks grow all the redder, as I follow her gaze. A solitary video file, in a new folder, titled “Tom’s First Time with Daddy.”

And when she clicks it, and the speakers produce the sound of my voice…for the first time in my life, I’m confronted with a very different angle to my sexual adventures with the Venyabildt futanaris.

Before this moment, it has always been something private.

But now, it’s possible for anyone to see it.

And as I watch myself beginning to suck Persephone Venyabildt’s big beautiful cock, I feel a fluttering twist of the soul that makes clear I’ve still got quite a bit to learn from these effortlessly gorgeous goddesses…